Pocket of Light
by Preaching Red
Summary: Introduce a problem and the universe works to find a solution. Introduce a solution and the universe finds a problem. That is the truth of our society. The universe presented a solution in The Traveler, and then presented a problem, The Darkness. The galaxy is a big place, Guardian, but start one planet at a time and perhaps we can create our own pocket of light once again.
1. Welcome Back To Life

Introduce a problem and the universe works to find a solution. Introduce a solution and the universe finds a problem. That is the truth of our society. The universe presented a solution: The Traveler, and then presented a problem: The Darkness. Unfortunately for humanity, The Darkness was rather tenacious. Even banding together with other races of light couldn't save us. The Darkness is all encompassing, but that's precisely why pockets of light will always radiate hope.

Our universe is dark and taken, no longer is it the home of the Golden Age. For us as a species, our destiny is not the recovery of the past but the evolution to a future of light. If we can't realize that destiny, we might as well kiss our sorry asses goodbye because The Darkness will come again. When it does, I can only hope we will be ready. The galaxy is a big place, Guardian, but start one planet at a time and perhaps we can create our own pocket of light once again. I'm sure there are others out there, others who fight against the darkness. Our light will be their guide.

* * *

The morning was brisk; an expanse of land beaten barren by the harsh tundra gales veiled by an impenetrable fog. Eyes tried to focus on a blurry floating shape but were closed off from the world before progress could be made. Then, a painful twitch of the hand was all it took for blood to begin flowing once again. Immediately the cocooned eyes were thrust into the waking world; a world once full of light and vibrancy long since darkened, as though mourning the bottomless pain suffered with each and every dip of the sun. It was easy and comfortable to waken to this world; however, staying awake in the lulling darkness was no easy feat. Only the bravest, craziest, most numb could possibly hope to shield their heart from this galaxy of darkness.

Focusing quickly, feral blue eyes focused on the floating white object. A question tried to escape his lips but all that he exhaled was the slightest cough; his vocal cords had been dormant for quite some time. Luckily for him, the floating object seemed to have plenty to say.

"Easy now, this process is never easy—or, so I've heard. I've never actually _done_ this before. We Ghosts can only choose one Guardian to resurrect. From then on, our light is tied to their light. When they die, _we die_."

He took in all this information in stride. Raising his hand to run his fingers through his platinum hair only to find them glide across a smooth, durable surface. As though sensing the impending question, the 'Ghost' continued speaking.

"This may sound weird, but upon resurrection we actually form your body inside a special suit created from a combination of sapphire wire, hadronic essence, and plasteel. From there I've equipped you with standard armor I've found in the field. Unfortunately, the light within these armor pieces is minimal, as they've been lying around for quite some time. If we get you back to the Tower, they infuse light into items to make them more powerful; however, they are nowhere near as powerful as a piece of armor that has clashed against the darkness and won."

Finally, his voice did find him.

"What?"

"Ah!" The Ghost sounded jubilant to finally hear his voice, "I see you've found your voice! Quicker than average too according to my records. Let me see if I can summarize for you. You have been chosen to fight for Earth in its fight against the darkness. You've been dead a long time, so you're going to see and hear plenty of stuff that won't make a lot of sense. If you keep your head down and your ear to the ground, you'll pick up enough to get by. I will do my best to fill in any gaps that your experiences may leave. As for our situation right now: we are currently located outside the city, and it isn't safe here. Luckily, I found you early in the day! Fallen are nocturnal by nature, and prowl the outskirts of The Wall."

"Wall?" turning and peering through the fog, trying to see what his Ghost was talking about.

"Built by humans in an effort to stave off the Fallen invasion. For the most part, it worked. That is until the Fallen improved the accuracy of their in-atmosphere space jumps and were able to get ships inside The Wall. Also, for the record, it's that way, not that way, not that you'll be able to see it through this soup."

Turning on his heel, he tried to peer through the fog despite his Ghost's warning. He did not succeed in spotting a construct of any sort.

"You'll find that regarding matters of logic I am usually correct."

"What about matters of the heart?"

"I draw my conclusions from data. Despite being a construct of the very light that protects you and flows from you, I am still very much a machine."

"Understood."

He placed his right foot forward for the first time in, well, a long time if his Ghost was anything to go by, and quickly he began walking. Soon afterwards, he was running, leaping over rocks and ice patches as though he'd been doing it yesterday. Sensing the surprise in his kindred, his Ghost couldn't help but make a snarky comment.

"Aren't natural instincts nice?"

As the day progressed further the fog began to burn off, and for the first time in a long time he laid eyes on the sun. Eyes widening and mouth opening in awe for a split second before he winced and looked away in pain, realizing sheepishly that he'd been staring at the celestial body. Shaking his head and allowing his eyes to readjust, he continued in the direction his Ghost had pointed him.

'That way' was all he'd said, but as previously stated, regarding matters of logic, Ghost was usually right. As proven when it recommended he not eat the weird spikey ball; upon further inspection he realized it was a long dead Fallen grenade, and that it would probably give him indigestion for the record books. Additionally, his Ghost had politely suggested that he slow his jog to a walk. By his calculations, 'we won't make it to The Wall any time soon. It's better if you save as much energy as possible for dealing with threats'. So he agreed. Thus far nothing truly threatening had made any sort of attempt on his life. A stick had tripped him when he got caught losing his attention along the horizon, but he'd picked it up after and promised to use it for his fire as penance.

Eventually, the frozen tundra began to change, giving way to outright snow. Trudging heartily through he freshly fallen snow was hard work. With each footfall, his boots dug themselves feet into the snow, and then he'd have to wrench them free before plunging them in all over again. The storm thickened, and he began having trouble seeing objects in front of him, so he'd put his hands out and feel the air in front of him before each step. His Ghost, who'd cozied up inside his helmet's interfacing system, recommended making camp for the night. He agreed, not only trusting its judgment but also feeling his own fatigue beginning to set in. He took a few more steps just for good measure, and ended up walking straight into a large rock, peering out from the snow as though watching over the expanse of white.

"My readings say that the wind is coming from South/Southeast. If you move around the rock a little this way—no, that way; right there!—you should be shielded from the storm. Well, 'shielded'."

Clearing away the snow until he found solid ground, which was quite a ways down, he threw the wood he'd been carrying down and set to work starting a fire. He wondered about what the fire would do for him. His suit was blocking out the cold fairly well; he still felt the bite, but he was sure he'd be easily dead without it. With that in mind, what would the fire do for him? Trusting his Ghost's judgment once again, he pulled out the dead Fallen grenade he'd tried to eat and sparked himself a roaring fire.

"Better get some sleep. I'll wake you up bright and early tomorrow, or later depending on when the storm ends."

"Thank you."

He meant it. His Ghost had been nothing but pleasant over the past day. Despite reviving him into this inane struggle for life, he respected his Ghost's cordiality. He drifted off easily after the day's scraps, aided not in the slightest by his trust in his companion to wake him should anything develop.

"Friend, there's been an interesting development."

Waking up quickly to the sight of, thank the lord, blue sky, his head squared to his floating soul mate.

"Fill me in."

"I can't say for sure. We either camped next to them, or a Fallen house's convoy moved in overnight under the cover of that storm."

Standing up quickly, but making sure his head didn't break the surface of his hole, he began to slowly peer over the precipice.

"Ohhh" He slowly breathed out as he took in the severity of the situation, "so that's the Fallen, huh?"

"Indeed. There are quite a lot of them too. Normally they don't move like this. I wonder if there's been a border scrap between two houses…"

"I'm going around."

"Actually it's better if you wait a little. There's no telling how far that convoy extends. Sit tight for a little. Luckily we have the high ground. Lucky that you found this rock when you did, otherwise we'd have gone straight off this cliff."

A sharp intake of breath was the only indication he gave that he'd found what his Ghost had been talking about. It explained why the Fallen convoy had looked so small, and also why the rock had been there in the first place. As Ghost had said, lucky for him, otherwise he'd have walked straight off the cliff and, maybe not to his death immediately, but the Fallen would have found him and executed him.

Upon closer inspection of the area, they appeared to be at the foot of a sprawling mountain range, peaks spired thousands of feet into the sky before him. Even the clouds were unable to exceed the imposing figures, being forced to part for nature's creations.

"Almost like they're trying to reach the sky." Ghost commented offhandedly

Raising en eyebrow, he turned to look at the robot, "I thought you said you weren't good with matters of the heart?"

Despite knowing better, he could feel the smirk on the machine's face.

"That's not what I said; I said I draw my conclusions from data. I know the task Earth has set itself, and you are directly tied to that task. Your species and those mountains, kindred spirits, aren't you?"

"I suppose in a way we are." He sighed as the ramifications piled high, "Always reaching towards a seemingly impossible goal seems to be a hallmark of humanity. That's where we get to derive hope from, isn't it? That feeling of indomitability?"

"Look at you. Recently resurrected and already proficient in human banter."

"Considering the only company I've had is a floating flashlight, I'll take anything I can get."

"Touché."

The hours ticked by and eventually the convoy did pass by. The instant the end came in sight, he bolted. With the help of his Ghost, he plotted a course down the cliff face and began his descent. The rock was slick with melting ice, no thanks to the current angle of the sun, making the descent all the more dangerous.

"Watch your left foot."

Moving his foot to the better foothold that had been pointed out, he quickly thanked his Ghost before continuing down. A few footholds further and he couldn't help but look back up from whence he came. His progress was pleasing; he'd scaled half the face, unfortunately that meant he still had that same distance left to cover.

"No turning back now. It's just as far to go back as it is to keep going."

Once again he thanked his Ghost, this time with a much heavier degree of sass.

A few more footholds and his focus began to wane. Unfortunately, his Ghost had retreated into his interfacing system to try and bring up a motion tracker on his HUD and was therefore unable to bring him back; the result was a single misstep that sent him plummeting the remainder of the distance into the snow.

 _POV Shift_

A single, distant cry pierced his early morning routine, no matter how pitiful a routine it was. Normally, he wouldn't pay something like that any heed. On the frontier everything had to be taken at face value, and out here there was a standard value placed with every face: danger. Without that single motto, you wouldn't survive long. He'd learned it the hard way. Unlike many current Guardians, he hadn't had the fortune of being born in The Tower nor had he the fortunate of being born to an Awoken family that had the resources to ship him out to the tower. His Ghost, in the dead of night, in the middle of a thunderstorm, had resurrected him. The trek back to the tower had been life threatening but quite fruitful. According to the archives, many newly resurrected Guardians do not make it long on the frontier.

That isn't wholly surprising. Especially since the Ghosts who venture out there are usually wayward, or perhaps overt perfectionists who refuse to have a Guardian chosen for them; defective one way or the other. Either way, the experience he'd gained in the field coupled with his relatively young age had raised many eyebrows among the top brass when he finally showed up in The Tower. The factions were all scrambling over themselves to try and recruit him, even Cayde and the Vanguard had reached out to him. It was like they'd forgotten they were fighting a war.

Of course, that led to why he was out here. The Future War Cult had shipped him out here, _alone_ , in order to confirm whether or not he was even worth the time. Skeptical little bastards. In his eyes, The Tower had forgotten the first rule of the frontier. Take everything at face value, and every face has a pre-assigned value: danger. The only ones who seemed to take the fight seriously were the Lords of Iron, but they'd apparently had a pretty tough run against the Fallen and were a little strapped for members at the moment. Maybe he'd start his own faction…

But all that is beside the point; he'd heard a scream. As mentioned, normally he wouldn't consider investigating, but the weather was particularly nice today and the scream he'd heard was most definitely not Fallen. Unless Fallen had recently developed the capacity to shout, "Oh shit!" that is.

"Hang on, I'mma comin'" He chanted to himself as he bounced through the snow, his specially designed boots helping him gracefully make steady headway. Soon he came to the entrance to a canyon that was marred by tank tracks and Fallen footprints. Immediately flattening himself to the snow, he slunk close to the left side of the canyon, making sure to stay within quick reach of some form of cover.

He advanced further along the canyon wall, and began to feel a pit growing in his stomach.

"I swear man, if I get my head blown off for this crazy idiot I'm gonna lose it."

Luckily for him, he didn't have to wander much farther to find his intended target. He had managed to burry himself quite deep in the snow, almost all the way to the solid earth. Looking up at the slop and then looking back down at the body, he immediately reached the conclusion that this guy had fallen off the cliff.

"Somehow you had time to yell before you hit the ground. Aren't you a lucky one? C'mon, up you get. I've got a cave a little over this way that's a bit off the beaten path. I can't have you die on me! Luck is a trait most Guardians are seriously lacking."

 _POV Shift_

"Interesting…"

"What?" He turned his nose up at the offending inspection, "I don't like being scrutinized."

"Apologies." The newcomer quickly backed off, settling down amongst himself near the fire.

All he knew was that when he'd come to he had this clown fussing over him, checking him for concussions or something. He'd insisted he was fine but the guy wouldn't take the hint. It wasn't until his Ghost ensured him that he was fine that he finally backed off. Before he could continue internally fuming, his 'savior' piped up.

"Let's start with a simple one." Rubbing his hands together, he focused his golden eyes on the fire, "What's your name?"

"My name?" He asked, more to himself than to the other. It wasn't long before he realized he couldn't conjure anything that struck him as his moniker, "I couldn't say. I don't think I have one."

Rather than burst out like he thought he would, the man simply nodded, running his hand through his brown hair in an understanding manner, "I didn't know my name either when I was first resurrected—still don't, in fact. When I showed up at the tower they gave me one. A silly little tag I could identify myself by. They called me Crescentie. They gave it to me because I'd been resurrected in the dead of night, survived many nights on the frontier, and took many lives with only the moon watching: Crescent, as in the phase of the moon, Crescent as in the shape of a bow, Crescent as in Nightstalker."

"Nightstalker?"

"Yessir. When a Guardian wanders aimlessly in the tower, a mentor immediately picks you up. These mentors report directly to the top brass—directly to Cayde-6, Ikora Rey, and Commander Zavala; the mentor then evaluates you, your psyche, your abilities, everything about you. From there they place you within a Conglomerate. In layman's terms, we call them Sub-Classes. The idea behind that is that they are classes within the generic class of Hunter, Warlock and Titan."

"So what am I?"

"That's a pretty broad question. If my eyes don't deceive me, you've been born into the Warlock class. Which is odd. Normally Hunters are the only ones resurrected on the frontier."

"Don't I feel special?"

"Don't let it go to your head. There are a lot of Guardians at The Tower. I felt special too when I first showed up, and, to be honest, we still kind of are. In this day and age, the majority of Guardians are not resurrected. Your corpse must've been exquisitely enticing."

"Please refrain from putting it like that." His Ghost poked over his shoulder, "It makes it sound like I have necrophilia."

Ignoring the spark of light, Crescentie turned to eye the Warlock, "I'm going to name you Mane."

"What makes you think I want a name?"

"You don't get a choice. When you show up at the Tower they'll need some sort of designation. Unless you want to be known as 1128 dash 9, you'll accept any name thrown your way."

"Is that what you did?"

"Indeed. Mane is in reference to the sun; Mane like a burning auburn morning. My Ghost tells me you were resurrected in the morning, and also, I think you're going to be a Sunsinger. Consider it a hunch. As for what that entails for you, well you can connect the dots when you meet your mentor."

Taking it all in was tough, but Mane didn't appear fazed. Only one thing about everything being laid out before him, however, was bothering him.

"Why are you out here?"

Crescentie shrugged, "You want the official spiel or the real reason I think I'm out here?"

"Which do you think?"

"Right. Well. FWC planted me here to prove myself—whatever the hell that means—but I think they put me here to scout whatever is going on with that Fallen house."

Mane's eyes lit up at the mention of the convoy, "The ones moving into the mountain range?"

"Is that what they were doing?" Crescentie growled in annoyance, "Boy are they gonna be hard to flush out. All things considered, I don't think we're qualified to make any moves as we are now. Maybe we can move in with the shock team that'll be sent to deal with them, but I can't say for sure. Either way, you ready to see the tower? I've got a ship and a sponsor who'd be more than happy to provide me an extra when we get there. Consider it a parting gift."

"A sponsor? You a big deal?"

Crescentie laughed heartily, "They call me a protégé. But when it all comes down to it that's just a word. I have no experience, just some skills and good instincts. When I first showed up they wanted me to be a pilot because of how good my reflexes are. My mentor stepped in pretty quickly on that one. Members of the Hunter class, apparently, usually make the best fighter pilots, but my mentor wasn't having any of that. He said I was too valuable to be saddled with simply piloting a fighter. That's where I got this sick helmet though." Grinning like a little kid, Crescentie plopped the pilot helmet in his lap, "They call it the Graviton. It's a one of a kind model!"

He held it out for Mane to see. The helmet itself was solid gunmetal grey, and the way the visor had been implemented was... artistic, if Mane were to take liberties with vocabulary. Most of the face was covered by the visor rather than armor, which unsettled Mane. The visor extended diagonally behind the eyes, where it was swallowed by a slender armor piece. Armor that closely resembled fangs swept down from above each eye and stopping just above each eye, leaving the visor exposed in the middle of the forehead. Similar fangs reached up from the chin of the helmet, but these were far shorter and sharper. Taking in the visage, Mane noted that it looked like a gaping maw.

"Seems like someone up there likes you." Mane chuckled with him, "It doesn't seem the have a very powerful concentration of light though."

Crescentie smirked, seemingly thoroughly excited by what he was about to reveal, "I'll tell you, there are rumors of exotic items that float around. I've heard a lot of them, and I've noticed a commonality to all of them: they have a story behind them. That's why I figure it's complete bogus to spend your whole life hunting for the SUROS Regime when you can make your own legacy. Why try and emulate someone else when you can become your own legend? If you can do that, make your own legend, the Darkness won't stand a chance against you."

* * *

 **A/N: I'm conservative with my ratings. I can never tell how violent or lemony my writing will get, so I always just go with M. I figure it keeps away the kids who actually worry about it, then the kids who don't care will read it anyway. Either way I'm in the clear.**

 **One of the things that annoyed me the most about the Destiny game was that I didn't feel small. I'd expected massive worlds with constructs dwarfing me only for the sake of mystery, magic, and** **grandeur. Unfortunately, I feel like Destiny didn't give me that. Because of that, here I'm trying to make the world feel bigger, the characters feel insignificant but somehow significant at the same time. I hope to make The Tower a more dynamic entity as well as give Earth a bigger role in the overall scheme of things. Take care of business at home before you move away, am I right?**

 **I'm also fairly certain no one missed the fairly obvious implications regarding Crescentie's pilot helmet. If you missed them, I won't spoil anything. But if you caught it; yes, yes I did just do that :P**

 **To be fair, I justified myself. I wanted the exotics to still be a part of the story, as they play such a large role in Destiny, but I—initially—had no idea how to properly integrate them. I didn't want every Guardian running around with Red Death or Helm of Saint-14 like you see in the game. So I'm trying an interesting idea regarding how items become more powerful. However often the wielder is thrown against the darkness and lives, how often the wielder barely escapes death or greatly triumphs, anything that would showcase a Guardian's light, empowers an item. The more often these things happen, or the greater the scenario or trauma, the more powerful an item becomes.**

 **Let me know what you think! I appreciate your feedback. Also, if you were wondering, the title is intentionally ironic. Calling a galaxy a pocket.**


	2. Among the Lions and Dogs

**A/N: Quick note: unless I say otherwise, please assume a character is a member of the human race unless it's stupidly super blatantly obvious they aren't. Danke.**

 **Disclaimer: Destiny is not my franchise. I realize I forgot to mention this last chapter, but I'm almost positive this comes as a shock to absolutely no one.**

* * *

"Welcome to The Tower, Mane." Crescentie made a sarcastic sweeping gesture, almost bumping a passerby Exo in the process.

Mane couldn't understand his sarcasm. In his eyes, the crimson draped trees that let their leaves be taken by the crisp early spring breeze, the innocent lights that shone even during the day, came together to form a haven of light.

"Oh, no, no. I know that look. Those eyes are the same eyes I had when I showed up here." Crescentie wagged his finger lightly, "This isn't the haven of light. That—" He pointed at the sprawling city beneath the Traveler, "—is the haven of light. This—" He gestured to the flurry of guardians meandering about, "—is the lion's den. No pun intended. The only people who have the planet's best interest in mind are the head honchos. The dogs down here are out for personal standing."

Mane smiled at his new friend, "Let me guess: they've forgotten the first rule of the frontier?"

Crescentie couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, "You know me too well. I promise you'll see it soon enough. The dogs don't take too kindly to upcoming Guardians, especially ones born on the frontier."

"I take it you were on the receiving end of that." Mane narrowed his eyes in disgust, "I won't let them fuck with me. Although, I thought you said this was a den of lions. Why do you refer to them as dogs?" The Warlock eyed a passing Awoken Hunter strangely, trying to see if he could spot any canine resemblance.

"Don't take everything so literally. However, these fools are most certainly dogs of the Vanguard. They will never be anything more." Crescentie raised his gaze to look at the highest levels of The Tower. Up there the afternoon light seemed as though it concentrated, giving the highest levels of The Tower a degree of radiance Mane suspected his eyes, even in life, never had the pleasure of taking in. "That is a true den of lions. The most experienced and lethal Guardians the Vanguard can boast. However, out _there_ , in the way beyond, are where the true Guardians reside."

The golden-eyed guardian paused, his gaze becoming misty as he began to lose himself in that celestial beyond. Just as Mane was going to reach out to shake him from his trance, Crescentie turned to look at him.

"I believe you when you say you'll stay above the hounds." Crescentie smiled approvingly, "However, just stick with me until we find you a mentor. Mentors are usually good at scaring away the riff raff. As much as they hate greenery walking around the tower, they respect and fear experience. Kill an Archon or some shit like that and you might just earn some respect."

"Greenery?"

Crescentie didn't answer; instead he began walking towards the Hall of Guardians, "C'mon. The Vanguard recruiter is this way."

Walking forward in this place was surreal for the new Guardian. From what he'd seen of this world that they lived in, no place safe was left. His short time on the frontier had taught him that much. Couple that with what Crescentie had told him, this place was very special. 'The Last City' as it was apparently called. When he'd heard that, Mane had commented offhandedly—and humorously in his mind—that one day it would be the first city. His friend hadn't laughed; instead he'd tilted his head up to look up at the roof of the cave they were camping in and remained quiet.

His thoughts had stolen his focus, and he'd nearly lost his footing on the last stair. Luckily his feet found their way under him before he truly made a scene, but one person did see his little slip. Turning to his right, he noticed an ashen woman standing at the base of the stairs. Her noir headdress shielded the majority of her face, but he didn't need a face for her to imprint herself in his memory. Behind her veil, he noticed three luminescent eyes glowing eerily and before he could catch himself, he found himself murmuring, "what?"

"Hey!" Crescentie's shout broke him out of his small trance, "What're you waiting for?"

Quickly turning away from the mysterious woman, he walked stiffly over to where Crescentie was standing by a table. He was watching Crescentie the whole time, and during his walk over, Crescentie's eyes were never on Mane. Instead, they were locked with the woman's eyes. He gave her a tight-lipped, small nod of respect before turning on his heel, and focusing on a group of three, presumably, Guardians, sitting around a table. As soon as Mane was standing next to him, Crescentie began talking.

"These are the Vanguard recruiters. They focus on members of their respective classes. For example, this lovely young lady right here recruits the Titans."

The 'lovely young lady' let out a light huff, rolling her own pair of golden eyes as she responded as though it pained her very heart, "Hello Cress."

"Hi Kala!" He waved jovially, his pearly whites showing the whole time.

"Cress?"

"It's how I introduce myself to the _foxy_ señoritas." _Cress_ waggled his eyebrows, "Up next we have Galen, the roguish Hunter recruiter."

"You're too kind to me," Galen chuckled lightheartedly, his well-tanned skin contorting charmingly with his dimples, "Cress."

Crescentie drew his plain white cloak over his face with a gasp in mock horror, "You are _not_ foxy!" The response elicited a chuckle from both the Hunter and Titan recruiters.

Mane couldn't help how unprofessional it looked; he rolled his eyes, _'Are all Hunters like this?'_

"Next we have the grizzled, stoic, unflappable, Golden-boy. You're saddled with him bytheby."

Another roll of golden eyes, although these eyes burned a darker, almost orange hue when put next to the 14-karat eyes of Kala and Crescentie, "My name is Karat, young guardian. Please excuse Cress's antics."

Crescentie snorted in amusement when the elderly Warlock introduced himself but quickly found himself choking on that very same snort. His coughing fit drew the attention of many passerby Guardians, but only drew smiles from the recruiters.

"Your name is Carrot?" Mane dipped his head in thought.

"Correct." Karat nodded in affirmation, although Crescentie's Cheshire grin indicated he knew where Mane's train of thought was taking him. Kala caught sight of this and smacked him on the head, eliciting a hurt, "Hey!" Then Galen gave Kala a light cuff in response—eliciting a similar response from her—before he whispered to her, "C'mon, this is always the best part!"

The cogs in Manes head began to turn, "… As in the vegetable?"

A deep sigh emanated from the grizzled war veteran, "Be glad my therapist has told me I need to quell the volcanic eruptions."

"The eruptions? What?" Mane was becoming more confused by the minute.

"For now, Greenhorn, call me Gold."

"Gold? Ohh…" Mane's eyes widened, as he immediately understood his blunder, "My sincerest apologies sir!" He quickly sent an embarrassed glare that silenced the snickering Crescentie.

"It's a common mistake, kid." Galen clapped him on the shoulder, his leathery gloves didn't feel very protective, but the silvery plating that ran up them told his subconscious otherwise. If there was one thing Mane was quickly learning, it was that power would always exude power; no matter how power acts or how power thinks. It seems like it's a side effect of becoming in tune with the light and he hadn't figured out yet if the other classes could accomplish this feat or not, but he wasn't about to rule it out.

"Karat has the eyes of a hawk when it comes to seeing potential and executing psychiatric evaluations, but when it comes down to opening up a new recruit to our ideals he isn't usually our go to guy. If you want to sit in on this, Cress, you more than welcome." Galen turned to his protégé expectantly.

Despite the pleading look Mane was sending him, Crescentie declined politely.

"Another time perhaps. I have to seek an audience with the FWC so I can give my report on the movement of the House of Devils. They're garrisoning the Capulet Mountain range."

Kala's eyes narrowed as she contemplated the ramifications of such an action, "They're going to be quite hard to flush out of there. Luckily we have them on the run so it may prove easier than I fear."

"I'll go talk to Zavala about putting together a team." Galen sighed in what sounded like resignation. Clearly talking to Zavala was not one of his favorite pastimes, but duty called, "Looks like you get to deal with Carrot today, Mane. Sorry about that."

"How'd you know my name?"

Galen tapped his head with two fingers, "My Ghost was communing with your Ghost while your friend was introducing us. Introductions are mere formalities among Guardians, so when situations are dire they aren't required."

"Understood." Mane gave a curt, professional nod.

"I think you and Carrot will get along fine, Guardian." Kala smiled lightly, "He's not as thorny as he looks. Professional yes, but he's not a total ass. Make sure to use common sense and keep the atmosphere professional and you will form a strong bond. I'm afraid I can't join you two, I'm going to have to follow Cress. I too have business with the War Cult."

"Sure you do!" Galen cat-called from his position by the bottom of the stairs, drawing all available attention to Kala, "Make sure to tell me all about the _development_!"

While the Titan recruiter fumed silently to herself, she made sure to walk away _ahead_ of Crescentie, eliciting a response from the easygoing Hunter.

"Hey! Where're you going in such a hurry?"

"Away from you, Moron!" She shot back, quickening her pace. Unfortunately for her, she refused to be seen running in the tower, so Crescentie had no problem catching up to her and striking up easy conversation.

Mane didn't notice it, but he'd been staring at the pair with a smile as they walked away. Karat, however, did notice.

"Don't be fooled by their actions. All three of them are cold-blooded killers. Everyone finds his or her own way to cope with the killing. Your friend tries to evoke emotions in others. Whether it's to check if they're still there within others or if he feeds off them because he doesn't have any of his own I can't tell. For his sake, I like to think it's the former, but Galen reports that there's evidence to the latter."

"No emotions? You mean like a sociopath?"

"In a certain sense of the word," Karat nodded sagely, feeling his own emotions begin to swirl as he carefully chose his next words, "The Vanguard has a theory. This theory postulates that, upon resurrection, the emotion that last felt by a human is magnified. This magnified emotion then monopolize the brain's ability to process other emotions. It seems like this only occurs in very rare cases, but, with that said, it seems like Cress is one of those rare few."

"So what emotion do you think was magnified for him?" Mane paused for a moment, recounting all his time spent with Crescentie, "No… you don't think it's hate, do you?"

Another sage nod from Karat, although Mane detected a quiet note of appraisal within, "You're more observant than you look. Yes, Galen's reports returned showing an affinity for holding grudges and getting lost in what we like to call 'the eye of the storm', or, more simply, the flow of battle. This evaluation is part of the reason why we decided to make him a Nightstalker and not a Gunslinger, and the main reason we discounted Bladedancer immediately. We believed that if he learned to channel the Arc he could very well die if he loses himself in a combat scenario. The reason we chose to put him in the Nightstalker role over Gunslinger wasn't due to aptitude. I'm sure he mentioned the interest The Tower has taken in him due to his abilities and instincts. They're more rare than even he thinks. I see many of those same instincts in you, however you strike me as far more cautious than you fire-blooded counterpart. Anyway, I digress. We chose him as a Nightstalker because we were worried about his ability to function in a team dynamic. Contrary to belief, your conglomerate isn't predestined. If it were, Crescentie would have been chosen as a Gunslinger, and you would probably have been a Sunsinger. I get the feeling that's what you were expecting. We shall see, but my gut tells me that you too are going to stray a little from your destiny."

Mane narrowed his eyes in thought, gaze straying to the table but not focusing on anything in particular.

"Come now" Karat spoke, shaking Mane from his thoughts once again, "I'm sure you'd like to find a nice spot to settle down for the foreseeable future. The Tower rents out plenty of rooms, but unfortunately for you the rent isn't free, and taking out a loan isn't in your best interest right now. For cases like yours we post you up at the Vanguard barracks. The quarters are nice enough, I guess, but you get to sleep in bed. For a case like you, that must sound pretty enticing. Here are the keys; your room number is 42B."

Mane looked oddly at the key in his hand, not noticing Karat walk away. From his memories, they didn't look like traditional, lock turning keys. "Hey Ghost, can you analyze this for me?"

"Of course I can!" His floating friend exclaimed jubilantly, happy to be of service after so long cooped up in his interfacing system, "Just give me a second. Open palm, if you don't mind."

The pale, blue, geometric beam shot out of his Ghost's core, enveloping the key and, assumedly, making a great many more observations than the naked eye—perhaps more than chemical tests.

"Right. Well what we have here is undoubtedly a standard issue Vanguard key." Ghost spoke in a matter of fact tone that made Mane feel like a bumbling buffoon, "However. There is something interesting about this key. Its structure appears to be insufficient to open any of the doors in the tower. Perhaps once we reach room 42B we will learn more about this. Off you go, then! No, not that way, _that_ way."

The corridors were a maze of perfect symmetry. They hardly ever bent or weaved, Ghost mentioned that the floor plan follows the curvature of The Tower for maximum utilization of space. Unfortunately, that meant communal bathrooms; male and female separate of course. He did have to take the elevator down a few floors, but eventually he did find his way to room 42B. The B in the moniker implied that the room was separated into two simple dorms. A loft bed with a desk and computer underneath, as well as a sink and a small kitchenette.

"If you knew all that, why didn't you say so sooner?" Mane chastised his Ghost, only light annoyance only slightly gracing his tone.

"Because it never seemed pertinent!" it chirped, "And it doesn't help us actually get _in_ the room, now does it."

A huff exuded and Mane gave his short platinum hair an annoyed ruffle, "That is very true. Examine the lock for me, will ya? That'll probably give us a decent answer."

"Was already planning on it. Bring me out, please."

Holding out his plasteel, sapphire and whatever covered hand; he presented his Ghost a means to physically manifest itself. The familiar blue light crept over the locking mechanism, and within an instant his Ghost had a solution.

"Well this will be easy enough. All you have to do is hold the key against the lock and then hit it with a burst of energy."

"You mean I have to punch it?" Mane blanched at the though of slamming his fist into what looked like very meticulously reinforced metal.

"Nothing of the sort!" His Ghost sounded aghast at the thought, "You are a Warlock not a Neanderthal Titan! Carrot noted that he believes you aren't destined to become a Sunsinger. Perhaps now is the time to test what he believes your affinity is."

Quietly reminding himself that not all Titans were Neanderthals, as Kala had elegantly proven, Mane prepared to channel whatever he could. After a minute of standing there with his hand out, a voice interrupted his progress—if it could even be called progress.

"You look like you need a hand, meh?"

Turning his head slightly, he took in the man's blue skinned appearance, "Awoken?"

"Correct." The man nodded his head, "Born and raised in The Tower, though. I'm a Warlock as well, and in this case I also happen to be your neighbor." He flashed a key that was inscribed with 42A, "Let me help a friend."

"Thank you." Mane smiled in relief that his neighbor was not only friendly but also more than willing to help.

"Alright. Now, the energy you're looking for is within the core of your being. It is something you channel, but it's also something that flows. You don't have to channel it, just direct it. You don't have to close your eyes—I had some asshole pickpocket me while I was doing that—" Mane snickered at the man's unfortunate luck, "But you do have to focus. Let your mind do the work, see if you can find the tide of energy. The waves should be lapping at the extremities of your consciousness. Once you've felt it, lower your instinctual barrie—HOLY SHIT"

Lower his instinctual barriers Mane did; however, he hadn't been patient enough. If he had listened a little longer, he would've heard his neighbor say 'slowly'. His instinctual barrier had been all but torn down, allowing the arc energy to explode from his open palm and utter destroy his locking device.

Once both men caught their breath as the door wilted open, the Awoken looked at Mane with a raised eyebrow, "Well, you're in. Hooray…"

"I'm not gonna have to pay for that am I?" Mane fretted worriedly, "My ass is broke, man!"

"Easy, easy." The Awoken laughed, "You get flustered pretty easily don't you? That'll change as you further your Warlock training. I'm sure Carrot will look the other way on this one. It was his own fault for not teaching you how the keys work."

"You mean he told you how they work?"

"Of course! How do you think I got in my room?" He laughed heartily, "Man he really screwed the pooch for you man. Lucky I came along when I did or you'd be curled up in the hallway!"

 _With Carrot and Galen_

Roaring laughter echoed throughout the hall of guardians as Galen lay face down on the table Crescentie had proclaimed the, "Table of Plotting".

Karat's right eye twitched, "It's not funny."

"What're you talking about?" Galen heaved in between laughs, "Your 'sneaky' plot was sniffed out on night one!"

"He cheated." Karat proclaimed indignantly, crossing his arms and turning his back to the now breathless Hunter.

"Man." He let out a nice deep breath before stifling another onslaught of chuckles, "I haven't laughed that hard in a while."

Both were so focused on doing their own thing, that they didn't notice a third presence enter the planning room. They probably would've continued to not notice until the presence let out a throaty, metallic sounding, attention-grabbing cough, "Gentlemen?"

Both men snapped to attention as they recognized the speaker, "Good afternoon, Cayde."

"Afternoon." Cayde-6, the figurehead for the Hunter Vanguard nodded curtly, sweeping around the table before taking a position at the head, "I'm sure you heard Kala's report on Recon's findings regarding the House of Devils. We've got quite the predicament on hand, and we'd very much like for the three recruiters to join the strike team of six."

Karat sighed ruefully, "Cayde, I know you're trying to get me back out into the field, but you and I both know I'm far too burnt out for that. Besides, much like Galen, I've recently found a protégé I'd like to spend time training. We were introduced today and I think he would greatly benefit from having the basics properly imparted."

Galen leaned over the table, "I'm more than willing to join the team. If you really think it's necessary to dedicate high-ranking guardians to this team, which it sounds like you are, I request that my protégé join the team. He can join in place of Carrot."

"You know that I can understand the difference when someone calls me Carrot, right?"

Cayde-6 nodded, taking in the suggestion and folding his arms in thought. His mind ran over the designation in his head, calculating the possible outcomes and consequences from each before raising his head, indicating that he's ready to make a decision. "I will allow Crescentie to join the strike force. However, you have to keep him safe, understand? He is the future of the light. If he dies at this age I will hold you responsible, Galen."

"Understood, Sir. Consider it a certainty that he'll survive." Galen bowed his way out of the room to inform Crescentie of the decision.

Cayde-6 sighed the tired sigh, "I always feel like I'm resigning Guardians to die when I do that."

"Cayde, you know you're doing the right thing. People are going to die in conflict; that is our unfortunate reality. Also, you know the benefits of wiping out the House of Devils as well as I do. We'll be able to branch out as a society, and you know the sheep have been crying out for that."

"I know, Karat." Cayde sighed again, his gloved fingers massaging his temples; "It doesn't make it any easier."

"I know, friend. As much at it hurts to remind you, it doesn't get any easier, but it does get better."

Both veteran Guardians fell into a consoling silence, the dim lighting provided by the setting sun casting long shadows and accenting the heavy mood. The silence would last for close to an hour, around which point Kala would walk in to request a position on the strike team, but she'd realize that she simply couldn't find her voice despite the clacks of her shoes resounding deafeningly.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 *** Went back and made some text edits. I didn't notice how many errors were in the chapter before posting it. My bad, guys.**

 **This chapter was short and boring, I know. But like I mentioned, I extended the Vanguard hierarchy so it doesn't go straight to Cayde-6, Zavala and Ikora. I changed the Cayde, Cayde coincidence btw. If you know what I'm talking about kool. If you don't, ignore it. I feel like it made the difference fairly distinguishable, but it's possible it isn't as clear as I'm telling myself. Leave a review if you feel like I can do a better job; I'll be happy to fix it. Also, I need to know how in detail you want Mane's training to be. I'm planning on him being taught just the basics before he's sent out. Either way, the action against the Fallen will either begin next chapter or in two chapters.**


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